A/N: Huge thanks to those who are still hanging in there with me! I promise the next chapter will come a *lot* quicker than this one did. Enjoy!
~s
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Pride, Prejudice and Jimmy Choos
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[-11-]
Clark was in deep concentration when his mother came looking for him.
Having recently read a book on Japanese woodwork, he had decided to implement some of the techniques in his work. The art of hidden joints, laser-precision cuts, and nail-less construction required patience, skill, and total focus. See, for the past two weeks he had been doing everything he could think of to keep himself distracted.
Two weeks before, Lois Lane had marched into his barn, encroached upon his personal space, and then lifted his spirits only to crush his soul, all in the span of a few hours. When he thought about it, he wasn’t sure if it were better to have had the chance to say goodbye (loved and lost versus loved, yadda yadda yadda) when it left everything unsolved like it did. But that was the trouble with having time to think. Clark knew that if he stopped to think about it, he’d have to concede that Lois had been right—that they were different people, with different destinies.
But he also knew that if he stopped to *really* think about it—to go beyond the uneven truce that Lois had insisted upon with her departure—then he’d have to concede that *he* was right all along… That *she* shouldn’t have left in the first place.
Since his two minds were always in conflict, he had resorted to keeping his body busy and his mind diverted. Hence, the extra effort being put into doing chores at *normal* speed and into the craftsmanship of latticework on a fence no one would ever see.
The extreme focus was beneficial for keeping unwanted thoughts at bay, but it also meant that he wasn’t quite as… observant as he usually was. That explained why the wooden post in his hands disintegrated when his mother called his name.
Spinning around, he grimaced at the sound of all of the connecting posts from the fence he was building falling over like dominoes. Glancing over his shoulder he saw that the grazing cows ignored the disturbance. “Heyyyy Mom,” he offered weakly.
Her eyebrows lifted and Clark could tell what she was thinking—after all, no one had been able to startle him since he was three years old. Her expression told him that she must have called him a number of times before finally getting his attention.
“Telephone,” was all she said in lieu of the myriad of thoughts that wordlessly flashed across her face.
In spite of his efforts to not look overly hopeful, he could tell that his mother knew exactly what he was thinking… after all, he hadn’t been able to fool Martha Kent since long before he was three years old. Not to mention the fact that there was no way she could have missed the taxi that sat idling in the driveway for three hours the day Lois came back to say goodbye.
“It’s Chloe,” she offered, smiling lightly.
Clark’s chin dropped slightly. It wasn’t the call he had been hoping for, but hope was blind… the call he was hoping for was not going to come. The call from Chloe, however, was the next best thing. “I’ll, uh…” pausing, he took another glance behind him to see a few cows moving closer to the downed fence. “I’ll get the extension in the barn.”
Nodding, his mother turned and started back toward the house. By the time she made it to the kitchen and picked up the phone’s headset, Clark had rebuilt the fence… with nails.
~\s/~
“Thanks Mom, I got it.”
Clark waited until he heard his mother say goodbye to Chloe and hang up before addressing his long time friend. “Chloe, hey!”
Clark heard a light chuckle come through the line. “Hey yourself. Your mom said you were working, I didn’t want to pull you awa…”
“No, no, no,” he interrupted. “I’m glad! I mean, I really wanted to talk to you.”
“I kinda gathered that from all the messages you left me.”
Clark shrugged even though he knew she wouldn’t see it. “Sorry, I know you’re busy…”
“Don’t apologize; we made a deal to do a better job with staying in touch. I should be the one saying sorry that it took so long to get back to you. It’s the season for crazy schedules.”
The earnest in her voice made Clark feel a little guilty that his motivation for calling hadn’t really been about their pact to keep in touch. “Uhh, so… how are you? Besides being busy, I mean,” he asked, trying to appease some of his shame.
Chloe laughed again. “I really haven’t been able to think much further than twenty-four hours ahead, so I don’t know that I can answer that question without saying…”
“…Busy,” he entered, already getting the gist of the running theme. He chuckled along with her. “Well, I don’t want to keep you, or anything, I just…”
“Clark, come on, I can take a break for a friend! Believe me, I could use the opportunity to think of something besides span progressions, mic tics, and gaffing markers.”
Clark was confused by her words but just assumed she was working on a new album and was talking about studio stuff. “Yeah,” he offered, not really knowing what to say, but keeping the conversation going anyway.
“But enough about mi vida loca. How are things with you? Are the chickens less traumatized now that your house guest is gone?” she asked, teasingly.
Clark glanced out the window from his loft in the barn at the reminder. He could see the farm’s rooster walking in forlorn circles near the coop. “Rosco is a bit depressed,” he said. Chloe found that statement hilarious but he was serious… and empathetic.
“Wow, I would have never believed that Lois would befriend a rooster if I hadn’t seen it for myself.”
Clark turned and leaned against the wall. “So, ah, speaking of Lois…” he began hesitantly, “I was wondering, um, if you had a number…” He mentally smacked himself for that question—she was her cousin, for crying out loud. Of course she would have her number! “…Or a way I could reach her.”
He listened to the silence as Chloe seemed to think about his question and wondered what she was thinking. The last time Chloe had seen he and Lois together hadn’t been very pretty. In fact, it had been downright hostile. Chloe would no doubt be trying to rack her brain for a reason he’d want to get in contact with someone he clearly (at least as far as she knew) didn’t like.
“…Did she leave something?” she finally asked.
Clark swallowed and tried not to think about the black bra he’d found tucked under the cushions of his couch—something Lois had probably forgotten in her haste to get back to her plane that night. “Uh, yes!” he said, even though he had no intention of returning that item, “I was hoping I could talk to her about it.”
The other side of the call went silent again and Clark knew he had sounded too eager to be believable. Rubbing his chin with the hand not holding the phone, he closed his eyes and waited for Chloe’s next response.
“You know you can just send it to her dad. I’m sure your mom has the address.”
Clark thought it was a bit strange that Chloe would offer Mr. Lane as Lois’s mail contact but didn’t dwell on it long. Instead his thoughts were preoccupied with the mention of his mother, who, even though he was *pretty* sure knew what was going on (given the knowing looks and all), had yet to confront him about it. And he wanted to keep it that way. For some reason, he just didn’t want to have his mom in on his thing—whatever this ‘thing’ was—with Lois. He sighed. “The truth is… I really just want to talk to her… to Lois,” he stammered.
“What about?” came the immediate reply.
Clark wondered if Chloe’s tone was defensive or protective. “I, ah, we had a disagreement before she left, and I was hoping… to clear it up.”
“Clear it up?” she repeated. Clark had no trouble recognizing her tone this time—it was disbelieving. “Clark, it seemed pretty clear to me that you guys had been *disagreeing* since the moment she got there.”
His shoulders drooped a bit as he realized that he was going to have to give some to get some. “Things changed a little between us after you left.”
“Changed?” she questioned. “Between you and Lois?”
“Well, more than a little,” he continued in reply. “We, um, got closer.”
“Closer?” she parroted again, laughing. “Between you and Lois? Closer, like in proximity? As in she hit you… with a tractor, or something?”
Clark would have been amused had it not been so clear that she didn’t believe him. “No! Closer… as in she kissed me… or I kissed her, or whatever.”
The laughter on the other end of the line trailed off into the sound of a choke and coughing. “Kiss?” Chloe squeaked. Then in her regular voice, she asked, “between you and Loi…”
“Between me and Lois, yes.”
“And then she left and now you want to talk to her.”
After the teasing and laughing, he wasn’t prepared for the seriousness with which Chloe delivered that last line. He blinked in surprise at the sudden change in tone the conversation had taken. “Ye-yes.”
When she didn’t say anything in response, he felt the need to say more. “I think I…*really* like her, Chloe, and um… believe it or not, I think she belongs here.” Having spoken it aloud for the first time to someone other than Lois herself, Clark became even more convinced of the soundness of his argument. Lois just needed to come back. It was as simple as that, and he would convince her as well as soon as he got the chance to talk to her.
“I’m sorry, Clark. I have to go.”
“Chloe! Wait! What did…”
“I can’t be in the middle of this.”
Clark had never experienced whiplash before but he thought he might have the symptoms. “The middle of what?” he asked, thoroughly confused now.
He heard her sigh. “Listen Clark… I hate to say it, but if Lois didn’t leave you her number, then she… doesn’t want you to have it.”
“I just want to talk to her,” he insisted, feeling so close to his goal and at the same time, so far away from it.
“It seems pretty clear to me that she doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“Did she say that?” When there was no immediate response, he pressed on. “If she didn’t say that then how can we know for sure?”
It was quiet on the other end so Clark sharpened his concentration in hopes of picking up any sound from Chloe’s side of the call. “Have you seen her? Talked to her? Chloe, tell her to call me.”
“Tell me something, Clark.” She sounded resigned and a little bit angry. “You say that she belongs *there*… belongs with you, but what about the life she already has?”
“What life?” he scoffed back.
“You don’t know the first thing about Lois’s life, Clark.”
“Chloe…”
“No. You really don’t… and I’m starting to see why Lois didn’t say anything to me about this—about the two of you.”
“Chloe, believe me, I know what’s best for her!”
She laughed dryly. “How could you possibly when you don’t even know her… No, don’t answer that.” She sighed. “I think… it’s probably best that you steer clear of Lois.”
“But I…”
“I’m really sorry, Clark. I have to go.”
Grimacing, Clark knew he was at the end of that particular rope. “I’m sorry too, Chloe. I didn’t mean to put you in the middle… or make you uncomfortable.” He wanted to clear the air a bit more… maybe ask about how she was doing again, but knew it was too late. “Um… Take care?”
“Yeah, you too.”
Hearing the click when she ended her side of the call, Clark did the same and let out a long breath, wondering if he’d just killed the remnants of a relationship he’d shared with one of his oldest friends because he’d pressed to hard. Even as grim as those thoughts were, he couldn’t help but smile as he started putting pieces together in the back of his mind.
In those few minutes when Chloe had been silent, he’d picked up on the sounds of her environment. He realized that she wasn’t at a music studio, but at a stadium of some sort. And that’s when he remembered two things. One: Chloe—Lois’s cousin—was playing at Coachella that weekend, and two: so was Lola Dakota—Lois’s ‘best’ friend.
If Lois was going to be there, then so was he.
~\s/~
Less than twenty-four hours later, Clark was standing on the outskirts of a large crowd that was corralled in front of a large outdoor stage. Feeling a bit out of place in his long sleeved red plaid shirt, floppy trucker’s hat, and brown work boots in the midst of scantily-clad concert-goers, he shrugged out of his button down and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans. He figured that the plain white tee he had on underneath would look less conspicuously ‘country’ and out of place.
He scanned the crowd intently, looking for a familiar face among the thousands of faces that swarmed around him. Coachella was an annual music fest that attempted to take the concept that made Woodstock a cultural icon and expand on it. Three days of music acts played on three different stages—the excitement in the air was palpable. Clark felt the same rush of the moment that he saw on everyone else’s faces but knew his reasons were different. His research that morning had informed him that Chloe’s mini-concert would be played on the main stage as a warm-up act for the headliner… who was none other than the infamous Lola Dakota.
With those facts, Clark was sure that Lois would be in the crowd.
“Hey! Don’t let it fall!”
Clark’s was pulled away from peering through the crowd by the sound of someone yelling at him.
“Aww, come on, man! Don’t be a wet rag!” He blinked and turned as another nearby voice—a woman’s this time—admonished him for his lack of compliance. What he wasn’t complying with, however, was a mystery to him.
Looking down, he saw that there was a colorful beach ball sitting on the ground near his feet. More people in the crowd were urging him on so he picked it up and tossed it back toward the group with a sheepish shrug of apology. Apparently, the crowd was getting restless as they waited for the next act to take the stage and he had interrupted their diversion.
Muttering a few more apologies, Clark started to edge his way toward the stage, all while still scanning the faces around him. Having not seen Lois in the crowd toward the back, he decided that she must be in a VIP section near the front.
While Clark worked his way through the crowd, he found that he’d somehow lost his plaid shirt and he’d encountered a number of people who weren’t too happy about his jostling for position. He found that the less conversation he engaged in, the easier it was to move on. By the time he’d gotten close enough to the stage that he could see the security detail, a few musicians had come on the stage to begin plugging in their instruments and amplifiers. Their presence and the inference that the show would be starting soon caused the crowd to erupt in cheers. With everyone’s attention on the stage, Clark found it even less problematic to push all the way to the front.
Another cheer went up as a blond-haired man wearing tight jeans and a black bedazzled tank top ran out on the stage with a microphone. “How y’all doing out there?!”
While the audience yelled back at the man on the stage, Clark peered at their faces.
“All right, all right!” the man continued, pacing the stage to make sure he made visual contact with all sides of the area. “You guys look ready! Are you ready for the next act?!” Each time he spoke, the mass response got louder. “I saa-iiid, are you ready for your next act?... If you’re ready for Sully, make some noooo-oise!”
Clark was surprised at the number of pre-teen girls littering the area in front of the stage. Didn’t they have school or something? He turned toward the stage when the music started, and for a while, he stood as transfixed as the little girls he was next to as he watched his friend perform. She was singing a more rocked-up version of one of his favorite songs. Smiling, he turned back to the crowd, still not having found the one face he had been searching for.
A slight hesitation in the verse Chloe was singing caused Clark to glance up at the stage. She kept on singing and he was pretty sure that no one else had caught it, but given the way she was staring wide-eyed in his direction, he knew the hitch hadn’t been a planned part of the song.
He waved and the action seemed to knock her out of her stupor. She blinked and flicked the briefest of glances toward the eaves on the left side of the stage. It was in that slight motion that Clark realized his mistake. VIPs wouldn’t be in the crowd…
He needed to get backstage.
~\s/~
Lois leaned closer to the mirror so she could get a better angle as she applied a large star design to the right half of her face. “She sounds good doesn’t she?” she asked, dabbing her make-up brush into the gold coloring for the outline.
Behind her, Tess was peering up at the closed circuit television that was mounted in the top corner of the dressing room. “She missed a note,” the red-head observed.
“Yeah, I caught that too,” Lois admitted. She finished the design. “Probably swallowed a bug,” Lois teased. “I hate it when that happens. Damn outdoor concerts.”
She caught Tess’ glare in the reflection of the mirror when the older woman turned around to hand her Lola’s blonde wig.
“Thanks.” When Lois caught Tess’ new expression, she shrugged. “What?”
“You just said thank you… And actually sounded like you meant it.”
Lois bent forward to slide the wig over her pinned down locks. “I can take it back if it will make you feel better,” she offered while still upside down. She sat back up, flinging the blonde hair over her shoulders and shaking it out. Tess was still looking at her suspiciously. “Fine. Look, I just… I realize that the whole Lola thing means that only a few people can be around when the intimate prep-work is done. If it weren’t for that, you’d be out taking notes on Chloe’s missed notes from your favorite side-row seat.” Lois spun around in her chair so she was facing her instead of the mirror. “I mean, no other publicist has to take on so many extra responsibilities… So, thanks.”
Tess pursed her lips and arched an eyebrow. “Well… you’re welcome… I think.” She reached out and fixed the lace wrap edges of the wig so that the hair laid flat and looked natural. “There. Now Lola has arrived.”
As if to show her agreement, Lois took that moment to snap a bubble with her chewing gum. “Ye-up,” she drawled in Lola’s patented accent. “Let’s get this party started.” When Tess continued looking at her strangely, she laughed. “Now, what?”
Tess seemed conflicted. “I don’t know…”
Hopping up from her chair, Lois smacked Tess on the shoulder. “Cheer up, Toots. We’ve got a show to kill!” Snapping her gum loudly, she crossed to the door of the dressing room and pulled it open. “Wardrobe!”
“Lo…” At Tess’ call, Lois turned her head away from the door. “Are you happy?”
The question confused Lois.
“With all of this, I mean,” Tess continued, gesturing around the room.
Lois met her eyes for a moment, considering both the question and the answer. Was she happy? Maybe it wasn’t as simple as that. She was Lola and she was Lois. It was what it was.
As she was thinking about a way to verbalize that sentiment, the music changed. Knowing Chloe’s set by heart, Lois knew that she had to get moving. “Sully’s on her second song…” she leaned her head out of the door. “Where the hell is my wardrobe?! Let’s go people, let’s go! Hop-hop, snap-snap!” People bustling through the halls dodged to get out of the way as a short dark haired man led two female assistants into the room. “Rafa! What the hell?”
“Sorry, Lo-lo,” he effused. “I wish you would get over this whole ‘I do my own make-up and hair’ phase. You’re a star, Honey, you need to start banking on it!”
Lois rolled her eyes and followed the three people into the room. Rafa was immediately barking orders as he pulled her robe off her shoulders.
A triple knock sounded at the door and Lois nodded to Tess who crossed the room to open it. A tall brunette slid agilely into the room. She was wearing all black, wearing a wireless headset, and carrying a clipboard. “Lola!” she shouted after moving the mic away from her mouth.
“Hey, Cat…” Catherine Grant was the head choreographer and tour director.
“…No! No time for heys. The dancers are ready. Do you have your cues?”
Lois glanced over from where the wardrobe assistants were literally sewing her into her outfit. “I *have* the cues,” she replied. This was a conversation she’d been having with Cat since she’d gotten back from her ‘rehab stint’. The woman was crazy about making sure nothing went wrong with her ‘vision’.
“Don’t give me that look, Lola. We only get one shot with that crane. There are no re-dos when we go live. This isn’t a rehearsal.”
Lois shot a look over Cat’s shoulder to Tess as if asking for help. Tess merely shrugged as if to agree with the director. Sighing, Lois nodded. “I know, I know. One and done. Got it.”
“Well you better,” Cat groused. “The Sully act is on for three and a half more minutes and then we have eight to get the stage flipped and then it’s you, millions of people, and a crane. See where I’m going with this?”
Final sequin in place, Lois braced herself against the shoulder of the nearest assistant while Rafa held her shoes still for her to step into. “Kitty Cat,” she drawled, “I’m so far in where you’re going that I’m sending you a postcard.” She flashed her a grin. “Millions?”
“Millions,” Cat repeated. They were televising this portion of the music fest live LNN’s entertainment cable channel. Despite her hang-ups (or maybe because of them), Lola was a sure-win in all the demographics that counted for the pop scene. Her live shows—when she showed up—were always extraordinary. “Maybe more. Now hear me, Lola, this is important. The rig is set to automatically descend on mark with the music. You have to be on point on the platform, okay?”
“I know! On point. On platform. Just like the run-through yesterday… and the day before that… and the day before *that*…” Lois smirked as Cat and Tess shared a look before the brunette pointed at her warningly and ducked back out the door.
After being completely dressed and fitted with her mic and ear piece, Lois paused to take a final look in the mirror. Even with all of the bustle and warnings, her biggest concern at that moment was that she wouldn’t have a wardrobe malfunction in the pants Rafa had just ‘painted’ her into. She straightened and joined Tess by the door. “Ready when you are, Chief.”
Tess pointed to the garbage can next to the door. “Gum.”
Lois obediently spit, wagging her eyebrows when the gum banked off the wall and landed in the can.
Tess rolled her eyes and stepped outside. “Let’s get you to the catwalk.”
Just as they were exiting the dressing room, Tess’ walkie-talkie beeped. “Security Team Tango to Mercer.”
Tess frowned but pulled her walkie to her mouth. “This is Tess Mercer, go ahead Tango.”
“Ms. Mercer, we have a code twenty-two at Access Location Five. Could you please assist?”
With narrowed eyes, Tess pressed down the talk button. “On my way.”
Lois listened with interest. “What’s a code twenty-two?”
“Nothing, come on.” Tess continued to lead her to the end of the hall where Perry was standing and attentively watching the comings and goings of all the concert personnel. “You heard the chatter?” Tess asked as Perry fell into step with them, flanking Lois on the other side.
Perry nodded. “Go ahead. I got her.”
Tess nodded and broke away from their fast moving little group.
“Got me? *I’m* the one that’s got me. What’s a twenty-two?” she asked.
Perry just shook his head and laced her arm around his elbow.
Lois frowned, not enjoying being ‘handled’ but not having much of a choice. She closed her eyes and began doing a few vocal warm-up exercises.
“Here you go, Doll,” he announced.
Lois opened her eyes to see that they were at the ladder to the catwalk. “You’re not coming with me?” she asked, teasingly.
Perry growled and nudged her forward. “Get on up that rig, little girl.”
Lois laughed and grabbed the railings so she could begin her ascent. “How can you be afraid of a little catwalk? You’re a pilot for Pete’s sake!”
“I didn’t say I was afraid,” he muttered. “Just too old to be hanging from these flimsy looking monkey bars.”
Lois laughed louder and continued singing as she climbed.
~\s/~
Clark sighed as he looked down at the scene developing below. He had been trying to explain to the security guard—Norton, his badge had said—that he was a friend of the current singer, but the guard hadn’t bought it. Clark had even gone so far as to explain that he’d *just* talked to Chloe Sullivan the day before the show and if they could just ask her, she would confirm it. Norton had just shaken his head and informed him that all his VIPs were accounted for. Clark had attempted to take a look at the PDA the man was carrying to no avail. The security guard hadn’t taken kindly to Clark’s advance and had turned to call another nearby guard to come over and escort him out.
Not seeing much choice, Clark had disappeared as soon as the man’s head turned. The two guards had begun searching the area for him… they just hadn’t thought to look up. Now, standing in the catwalk, he was feeling pretty bad about the apparent uproar he had caused. Norton had just called for someone named Mercer on his walkie-talkie and Clark was now a ‘twenty-two’… He didn’t know what a twenty-two was, but given the number of security personnel that were gathering directly below him, it looked serious. As he crouched lower to the floor grate to remain out of sight, a red-haired woman hurried to the group and spoke in hushed tones to Norton. With so many of the guards having conversations with their walkies, Clark couldn’t quite make out what she was saying but he could tell from the way that she carried herself that she was a force to be reckoned with.
He chose not to do the reckoning. Knowing that this situation was quickly getting out of control, he decided to go ahead and finish what he started. Gingerly straightening up, he quietly began making his way toward the area the music was coming from.
When he arrived at the side of the stage, he was considering how and when to drop down unnoticed into the backstage personnel when the red-haired woman appeared flanked by two security guards. Chloe’s last song ended and he watched as she thrust her guitar at someone and ran off the stage without even acknowledging the cheers and applause from the crowd. She ran straight to the red-haired woman, and Clark turned his head so he could listen in.
“Tess, where is she?!” It surprised him at how frantic Chloe sounded.
The other woman—Tess—didn’t seem to have heard the question because she was busy saying her own part. “We might have a breach. These two are going to escort you to your dressing room. I need to make sure you get there sa…”
“No! Wait! I know… He’s not here for me!”
That caused Tess to pause. “What?”
Chloe’s head was whipping back and forth as if she were looking for someone. She started walking quickly deeper into the backstage area with Tess and the two guards following closely behind. “We have to find him before…”
As Chloe’s voice trailed off, he frowned, thinking about what she was saying. Was she talking about finding him? If so, why had she sounded so terrified? He started to move back toward the direction that they had taken, attuning his ears even more to catch what they were saying when something else caught his attention.
Startled, he turned back to the stage. The sound was coming from the catwalk directly above the middle of the stage.
Someone was singing… and he recognized the voice.
~\s/~
Lois lowered herself onto the platform from the catwalk and hooked the waiting carabineer onto the loop at the back of her pants. After testing the security of the line, she pressed the button on the small mic pack that was situated on the small of her back and cleared her throat. “Control come in, this is L. D.”
Cat’s voice came back to her through the ear piece, “L. D., this is control. All set?”
“All systems go on this end,” Lois reported, looking down through the see-through platform to see her band getting set up.
“Okay, we’re going to lower the platform to the start position and then it’s going to be radio silence until go time. Clear?”
“As a blue sky on a sunny day,” Lois answered with a smile.
“Control out. Knock ‘em dead, kid.”
“I always do,” Lois answered over a slight sigh. The mics were already off—now being controlled by Cat’s sound crew—so Lois knew she was talking to herself. Closing her eyes, she began doing her mental pre-show routine while the platform slowly lowered the two feet distance to the ‘start’ position. It would be from this location that she would lower onto the stage during her first number.
The sudden shaking of the rig caused her to snap to attention. When she opened her eyes, she saw that it wasn’t a mechanical issue that had caused the platform to wobble… it was because someone had just jumped onto it from above. “What the…!”
Her voice died in her throat when she got a good look at her visitor. Clark.
Praying that she was mistaken… and-slash-or dreaming, Lois closed her eyes and opened them again. Nope. He was still there.
And he was still Clark Kent.
Still, she had to play it straight. “Whoa. Listen, Honey, I think you took a wrong turn somewhere,” she drawled, pitching her voice an octave higher than normal. “This ain’t your ride.”
He blinked and she could see his confusion all over his face. “I’m sorry… I thought…”
“See, I don’t really care what you thought, let’s just get you out of here…” Lois grimaced at the annoying sound of her twice-over fake voice.
“Lola?” Clark questioned, still making no move to climb out of the rig. “Lola Dakota?”
Lois braced her hands on her hips. “Okay, so you know who I am! That’s great, but the only thing I want to know about you is how quickly you can leave.” She was about to push him toward the rear edge when the lights over the stage dimmed and an announcer came on the mic.
“And now ladies and gentlemen… the one and only… Lo-la Dakota!”
As the crowd erupted, Lois’s eyes popped. “Not happening. Not happening,” she mumbled. “Get out. Now,” she ordered.
Apparently realizing the impending seriousness of the show starting, Clark finally turned to leave. Then the music—a stylized version of ‘Whatever Lola Wants’ by Sarah Vaughn—cued.
“Crap!” Lois exclaimed, forgetting both the drawl and the pitch.
Clark turned around abruptly. “Lois?”
Lois groaned internally. He would be the one to recognize the way she said *that* word. “Sonny, you sound confused,” she said, regaining her composure and trying to use verbiage as far from her normal speak as possible—the downside was that she sounded like she was eighty years old—“But you still have time if you jump… now. Right now! Come on…” She began gesturing hurriedly. “Up, up… and away!”
“I’m not going anywhere.” His brow furrowed and his head tilted to the side as took a step closer.
Lois could see the wheels turning in his head and her hand automatically shot up to block his as he reached toward the plunging neckline of her outfit. There was a certain mole that only certain people who’d seen certain areas of her body would know to look for… “I could have you arrested for that, Farm Boy.” She immediately regretted her choice of words.
In response, Clark’s eyes flashed with anger and comprehension. Faster than she could react, he reached up and pulled the wig off of her head, sending a good number of bobby pins flying. Adding fuel to her horror, the rig chose that moment to start descending.
“Oh, this is not good,” Lois muttered, running a hand through her hair in near hysterics. “Soooo not good.”
“So you lied?!” Clark yelled angrily.
“This is not the time for this,” she warned, holding up a hand. Hearing the music near her cue, she fumbled with the mic pack on her lower back, swearing audibly when she remembered there was no way to turn it off. Giving up, she reached wildly for her wig.
“Talk to me,” he demanded. “Why are you wearing this?” He pulled the wig up as he mentioned it, unconsciously moving it away from her grabbing hands. “Why are you dressed like this? What the hell is going on?”
Lois realized she had less than sixty seconds before her mic went live. “Clark, listen…”
“Oh, so now you know who *I* am. You lied about *everything*!”
“I didn’t lie!” Fifty seconds. His glare intensified. “…I just didn’t tell you everything, but I can’t do that now.”
“What else did you lie about?” he asked, not even hearing what she was saying.
Forty-three seconds. “Focus, Clark. This is my life and it’s about to go extremely bad if you don’t do exactly what I tell you…”
“All that stuff you said about me… hell, maybe even all that stuff you said about your mother…”
The ticking of Lois’s mental clock disappeared at that. “Don’t. You. Dare,” she bit out. “You don’t know anything.”
“Obviously.”
“Just shut up. Okay?” Looking down, she saw the platform had crossed into the space being visible by the stage. A few more feet and they would be visible to the crowd and cameras. She saw Chloe in the stage wings pointing up at them to Tess and chuckled. This was a complete disaster.
“Oh, you think it’s funny?” Clark asked, shoving the blonde wig back toward her chest.
She accepted it half-heartedly. She had already accepted that it was too little too late.
Clark continued to ramble, “Please forgive me if I don’t find it annoying to learn that…”—Lois closed her eyes as the platform became visible and the music hit the cue so that her mic when live right when he said—“…Lola Dakota is really Lois Lane!”
~\s/~
The sudden echo of his voice over the sound system finally pulled Clark from his rage-fueled fugue. To their credit, the musicians were still playing, even though from his position with his back to the crowd, he could see them looking at one another with wide eyes. Lois was standing between him and the crowd, leaning against the back rail of the rig with her head down. The enormity of the situation sunk in as the platform settled onto the stage.
“Lois…” he said, quieter than the music this time.
“Shut up,” she whispered back. Suddenly grinning, she lifted her head with flair, and flipped her hair over her shoulders, stepping around him to be fully visible.
Guiltily, he found himself hoping that Lois—or Lola, or whoever she was—could play the whole thing off somehow. Maybe she could just start singing and pretend it was just part of the intro to the show.
Sing, he thought to himself. *Sing*.
Slowly turning around, he saw Lois’s image being shown on the large screens posted on the sides of the stage and in the crowd area. She was staring out at the audience in silent shock… and they were staring back at her with the same.
*Sing*, he prayed again, but he was starting to lose hope that even that would fix this. He was sure there were a large number of people in the crowd who were trying to understand what was going on… others were already pulling out their phones (if they hadn’t already been recording, that is). Delayed, Clark remembered that this concert was being televised live. In this age of technology…
“Lois, I…”
She blinked but didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, she shook her head as if to say, ‘Don’t make it worse.’
Glancing to toward the wings, he saw groups of security personnel gathering in preparation to rush the stage. To his surprise, only one man—a stocky man with a gray crew cut and an angry scowl—came out on the stage. Clark wasn’t afraid of many things but the imposing demeanor of the man made up for where his size left off. Even the band seemed to agree because the music trailed off as he crossed the stage.
Clark momentarily considered running, but then he saw Chloe’s distraught face from where she stood in the opposite stage wing. Swallowing, he stepped from the platform and raised his hands. He was led off the stage—none too gently—and right before they reached the end, he turned his head back to take a final look.
The outed pop-star stood dejectedly frozen in the center of a million flashing lights.
~\s/~
tbc...
